Eternal Twilight
by Matt Morwell
Summary: The Archangel Tyrael has done many things in his immortal life, but now it all seems for naught. The Brothers are free and he is shackled. What hope is left for him?


**_Eternal Twilight_**

Author's Note: Diablo 2 and all related characters are the property of Blizzard Entertainment. I use them arbitrarily and without permission. Deal with it.

* * *

His head hangs in utter defeat. Although he wants to continue struggling against the powers of the Binding Stone, he knows it is futile until someone comes to find him. Such a course of action is unlikely, even by the servants of Heaven, for he has disobeyed the directives of his origins in order to assist the race of Man in what is unquestionably the greatest trial of their existence. And while the mandates of the High Heavens are rooted firmly in the foundations of forgiveness and faith, first one must recognize and repent of his crimes against the Deities. 

The Archangel Tyrael did not intend to admit the commission of a crime to anyone.

Not even the Sin War had been so furious as this conflict. The Sin War... so long ago, and so many losses... and yet the atrocities committed by the Prime Evils in this day and age are well on the way to overcoming even the myths Man himself had conjured of the feats of the infernal Brothers.

His wings, so great and so very dazzlingly beautiful, had been wrapped forcibly about the Binding Stone – in the wrong direction. Though they appeared to be made of Light, they were quite real for him, and the pull of the Binding Stone was such that his wings were in excruciating pain. The combined energies of Baal and Diablo had corrupted the Binding Stone completely and turned it against Tyrael, forcing him to become a prisoner in the tomb of his former quarry.

As if this wasn't enough, Baal and Diablo had called forth the Lord of Pain himself, Duriel, from the Black Abyss and tasked him to guard Tyrael's broken husk. The Brothers were well-aware that Tyrael's will could not be corrupted, no matter how much it was shattered, and as an immortal creature born of the High Heavens, they were incapable of killing him. The most they could do was destroy his body, which would only release his spirit and allow it to return to Heaven.

This, they could not allow – thus they had left him here, to lay eternally bound within Tal Rasha's crypt.

_Fate is not without a sense of irony._

Tyrael was so weak he couldn't even utter a sound, and the only sound he was capable of making was the sound of his shackled wrists clattering futilely against the Stone.

The strength to do that was ebbing, as well.

Tyrael possessed no ears, as such, but his auditory sense was still functioning. There was little to hear but the sound of the lava flowing beneath his feet and the clicking sounds of the insects skittering about the cavern beyond.

And then there was Duriel to consider.

Of course, the Lesser Evil could have chosen whatever hideous, demonic form he fancied, or even the body of a well-sculpted human being. Upon his arrival on this plane of existence, however, he'd simply chosen to take the form of the nearest convenient life form, which happened to be kin to the insects that occupied the crypt. It was a logical choice with chaotic results – the chosen insect was a giant maggot.

That creature's form had then been twisted and perverted into the monster that stalked the corridors past the bridge now. Although Duriel was considered male, his body bore no such restriction... thus he was constantly reproducing a much more deadly version of the disgusting grubs. Some had chosen to explore the massive cavern where Tyrael dwelt in his agony and spit their vile fluids at him in absolute contempt of him and everything he stood for.

Interference. Heaven had sworn not to interfere.

But Hell was bound by no such vow. The Brothers believed that forcing Man to fear them would ultimately conscript him into joining their cause. They had been correct, on a limited basis. Some men had indeed chosen to join Hell because of fear... others had chosen Hell simply because they were insane. Then again, men branded insane by their peers had joined Heaven's cause and had been just as noteworthy as the "traitors".

"Traitor"... a word Tyrael had familiarized himself with. Indeed, some of the lesser angels held opinions of him that were perilously close to accusing him of betraying the High Heavens.

Such beliefs were unthinkable to Tyrael himself – more than anything, he desired the security of Heaven, and the continuation of Order across all planes of existence. He was not so unlike the Paladins of Zakarum, who braved the threats of the world around them to prove to their peers that Heaven was indeed worth fighting for. He showed his loyalty not through his words, but his actions. He had proven it countless times throughout Eternity, and given the chance, he would continue to do so.

Given the chance.

The cavern was shuddering.

Tyrael's head cranes upward slightly, his curiosity piqued. He senses traces of an ancient magic – magic that he himself had employed ages ago in his quest to stop the Brothers from roaming the Earth. It is unmistakable.

It is the power of the Horadrim.

_And the only way Horadrim magic could be at work here and now... is by the knowledge kept by their remaining heir._

Tyrael had kept a watchful eye over the legacy of the Horadrim, splintered though it was. He knew of Deckard Cain. Had known him since his infancy. Had known his ancestor, Jered Cain, who helped construct this prison, right down to the very Stone to which the Archangel was now shackled. Had known every descendant hence.

He'd given himself that purpose, to watch the descendants of that order.

It seemed now to be the only purpose he'd had any notable measure of success in.

A gargling roar erupts from the surrounding caverns, resonates throughout the prison, causes the lava below to churn and the sands above to swirl.

Duriel has been struck down. Sent back to the Burning Hells... where perhaps he will spend the rest of Eternity, and never again trouble the world of Man.

_Is it possible?_

Tyrael's vision is so blurred he can barely make out the outline of the form before him, but he is reasonably sure it is not the form of yet another of those burrowing sand maggots spawned by Duriel.

No. Weaponry and armor glints before him. Weaponry and armor irreversibly stained by the blood of Evil Incarnate.

And the call of the Binding Stone is silent, at long last.

A flicker of hope rises up in Tyrael's broken heart.

He could not defeat the Prime Evils.

But perhaps his rescuer can.

_"I thank you, mortal... for my freedom."_


End file.
